Cast of Characters
by Bella Lumina1
Summary: Rory struggles to define her friendship with Jess.


**Title**: "Cast of Characters"  
**Author**: littlestar  
**E-mail**: littlestar@paris.com  
**Rating**: PG  
**Spoilers**: Anything up to and including "Lost and Found."  
**Summary**: Rory struggles to define her friendship with Jess.  


I'm not sure when it began, but suddenly I was thinking about him at the strangest times. Mostly he invaded my thoughts when I used to think of Dean; I didn't know what to do with that. The first time I realized what was going on was in my modern lit class, when I suddenly began pondering what his reactions would be to _The Girl at the Lion D'or_.

Our phone calls were becoming more regular. Not only was I thinking about him when I used to think of Dean, I was also calling him when I would normally call Dean. He would ask me if I had finally brought myself to read _The Sun Also Rises_ again. I would explain that I didn't understand it or like it the first time around; why would I read it again? He would chide me for being closed-minded about Hemingway again and would remind me that he had, after all, muddled through Ayn Rand and Dorothy Parker for me.

Jess became the second person in my life whose name was synonymous with the crisp, clean smell of a new book. I told him about my grandfather's penchant for reading, and he began asking often about the books that Grandpa had given me. I wanted to ask him where his love of books came from, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was still a little afraid of him -- more thrilled than afraid, actually. He unnerved me, and for some strange reason, I actually liked it.

I began coming home from school to often see a new (well, used) book propped against my windowsill. It was strange and wonderful to read his favorite books noted in the margins with his thoughts. I felt like I was peering inside his soul, and I began to daydream about him and his cast of characters. Jess was so many of them, all rolled into one.

On the day before spring break began, a new book was waiting for me on my windowsill with a note attached to the cover. I tossed my backpack, heavy with the weight of Grandpa and Jess's books, on my bed, and hurried to grab the book. Jess's untidy scrawl jumped from the scrap of paper.

__

Rory -- I'm leaving tonight. My mother wants me to visit over the break, God knows why. Don't be surprised if I show up at Luke's the day after I leave. I'll see you when I get back. Be good while I'm gone. -- Jess

The book was a battered copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. I knew it was one of his favorites, and I'd always consciously avoided casting him as Holden. Holden was mentally unstable. Jess was just bored.

I changed clothes quickly, tossing my sweater and skirt into the corner of the room. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers. I glanced again at the note as I shrugged on my coat, tucking the book in the pocket.

My feet pounded against the pavement as I jogged into town, slowing to a brisk walk as I passed Doose's and the newsstand. I slipped through the door of the empty diner, and Luke stared at me from behind the counter.

"You okay?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at my flushed cheeks. "What's the problem?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets, my fingers brushing the worn cover of the book. "Nothing," I replied, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Can I...is Jess still here?"

A strange smile crossed his face. "He's upstairs packing."

"Can I...?" I began, glancing at the door.

He nodded in the direction of the door. "It's a little messy, but go ahead."

"Oh, I don't mind," I reassured him quickly, walking calmly past the counter and bounding up the steps two at a time.

I'd never been in Luke's apartment before, though Mom had cracked plenty of jokes about it. The door was open just a little, and a strip of light crept across the floor in the hall. I peered in the window cautiously, jumping out of view when I saw Jess walk past. I flattened myself against the wall, closed my eyes, and grimaced when I heard footsteps approaching the door, and cracked one eye open when I heard the hinges squeak.

He was standing in front of me with his arms folded over his chest, an indulgent smirk playing across his lips. His hair was wild and unruly (as usual) and his eyes were crinkling at the edges. I knew he was about ten seconds away from laughing at me.

"Well, hello," he said, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Are you just lurking, or do you want to come in?"

I moved away from the wall, staring at the floor. "I got your note."

"And the book?"

"The note was attached to the book. Of course I got the book," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest indignantly.

He rolled his eyes at me, opening the door and making a sweeping gesture. "Come on, don't just stand out in the hall."

"Are you sure?"

"Come on," he urged, walking inside and leaving the door open behind him. I followed a few steps behind, closing the door behind me. "So, what's up?"

"I have no idea why I'm here," I answered, my eyes traveling over the room. Luke was right, it was a mess. There was dry-wall dust all over the wooden floors from the construction project they were working on, and there were clothes strewn over nearly every surface.

"Okay," Jess replied, giving me an unreadable look. He gestured at the mess. "Couldn't decide what to take along."

"I can see that," I responded calmly. "Listen, Jess..."

"What?" he asked. "Don't like the book? You could borrow another..."

"No, I like it," I answered. "I'm just...I don't know." I sat down carefully on one of the few chairs without stuff piled on it. "I really don't know why I'm here."

"To say goodbye?" he offered, tossing two shirts into his duffel bag.

"I guess so," I replied. "How long are you going to be at your mom's?"

"A week, maybe," he said. "Probably less. I meant what I wrote; I could be back a hell of a lot sooner than I'm supposed to."

"I thought you'd be happy when you finally got out of this place, even for a while," I murmured, and he shrugged.

"I don't know. It grows on you, you know?"

"Yeah," I replied. "So, anyway. Goodbye. See you when you get back."

"Thanks."

I stood to leave, looking at the floor. A stack of books was by the bed, looking as if it were ready to topple at any second. "What are you taking along?"

"I'm not sure yet," he replied, his eyes following my gaze to the books. He walked over and knelt by the pile, sifting through it. "I've got a lot, and it won't all fit in my bag...this one's for school." He held up a copy of _The Jungle_. "I don't like Sinclair."

I took it from his outstretched hand. "I've never read it."

He made a face. "Don't. Unless you're planning on converting to Socialism. Then the last fifty pages might be helpful."

I laughed. "I don't think I need to worry about that."

His smile was disarming. "Probably not. Other than that, it's all my stuff." He spread the books out on the floor in a fan, and I sat cross-legged beside him. "Read it all?"

I looked through the titles, conscious of his eyes on me. "All but this one." I picked up a book that looked brand-new, store-bought: a copy of _This Side of Paradise_.

"Really? I thought you liked Fitzgerald."

"I do. I just never got around to reading this one."

"Huh. Well, we'll have to fix that," he replied. He reached around me, pulling his _Catcher in the Rye_ out of my pocket and setting it on the floor in front of me. He took _Paradise_ out of my hands and slipped it into the empty pocket, his arms coming around me.

He smelled like shampoo and soap; I could feel the barest touch of his arm against mine. I looked up, and his eyes were watching mine carefully, searching for I don't know what. Before I could think anymore, his hand was on my cheek, and his lips were brushing mine in a kiss softer than a whisper.

And here was where I made my next mistake: I kissed him back.

When he moved his hand to trail his knuckles lightly down my arm, I pulled away, moving his hand to rest on the floor beside him. I didn't know what to say; his face was still so close, his cheek grazing mine as we sat there, motionless, breathing in a strange cadence.

I stood up, looking anywhere but him. I could feel heat suffusing my face, and I touched my cheeks lightly. "So, have a good time at your mother's house," I began lamely.

"Rory..."

"I'll see you when you get back," I finished, avoiding his gaze as I hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

My mother was in the diner, whining across the counter to Luke. Something about lack of omelets. I wasn't really sure. I just wanted to get out of there, and I ignored both my mother and Luke's questions. Behind me I could hear Jess's footsteps heavy on the stairs. "What did you do?" my mother asked angrily, and Jess replied, "Nothing. We were looking at books, and she freaked out..."

I ran all the way home.

That night as I lay in my bed, trying desperately to sleep, my mind wrapped around the concept of my own cast of characters. I had never been able to place Jess. I was the heroine, and Dean was the hero. We graced the pages of _Anna Karenina_ and _Emma_, _The Once and Future King_ and even Jess's _A Farewell to Arms_. Every time I read a book, I imagined Dean speaking the lines of the male lead. I twisted my bracelet on my wrist, and now even that reminded me of Jess, not Dean.

My stomach flip-flopped along with my perceptions. I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't Dean's face that I would be picturing anymore in my mind. I wasn't sure what to do with that.

**FINIS**


End file.
